Clearly Dark
by MedliR
Summary: Storylet dump/archive centered around Deepground and the Tsviets, Shelkero in particular. Stories are largely stand-alone.
1. Nicks and Scars

A/N: First in a series of mostly-unconnected Shelkero ficlets. Those that are connected will be labeled as such. On occasion I will throw in something of the general-Deepground variety. If you like any of these, please leave me a review as to what you liked about it, as these will vary in style and substance. Thank you!

Connected to _Apologizing For Beginners_

Music used to write this story: Bleeding Love, by Leona Lewis

Disclaimer: I do not own any part of the Compilation of Final Fantasy VII, nor do I own any of the music I may have used/referenced while writing. These respectively belong to Square Enix and the person or group that performed said music.

* * *

_Nicks and Scars_

The first time he had cut her was right after they had given him those planet-cursed wings. He kept misjudging the amount of space he needed to maneuver, and forgetting they were tipped with razor-sharp blades, so he managed to cut her. She hadn't said anything for the first few nicks, but then he reached around her and managed to slice a fairly decent-sized gash down her arm. She couldn't help the hiss of pain, which caught his attention. The look of shock on his face made her curse herself for having such poor control.

The second time was more metaphorical. He cut her heart when she heard from Azul that her termination had been ordered. She knew the order had originally come from Weiss, but Weiss couldn't really talk any more, so the order had to come from him. The fact that he had gone ahead and given it hurt. She knew, realistically, that his devotion to his brother was deeper than his devotion to her, but it still cut to know that he, seemingly, had no remorse over it. His behavior had not changed towards her one bit. She refused to believe that it was because he knew that shortly, he wouldn't see her again. He just didn't think that way. So she wouldn't give herself the luxury of the self-deception.

The third time, she realized, she had really been asking for it. She had let the anger and the hurt fester to the point that she lashed out at him in the only way she knew how: physically. Emotions and words just wouldn't get through to him. When he had retaliated by swallowing her in the darkness, she was cut again. This time it was worse than all the rest. He had once told her that he was aware, on some level, of the souls that died within Oblivion. If that was so, then he would feel when her shield died and she shortly followed. Apparently, she had meant nothing to him after all. And that hurt.

The last time he cut her, he died in the process. She had thought that being trapped and dying, with him completely indifferent was the worst cut. She realized now that she was wrong. This was the worst. While he was still living, she could feel the cuts, but they would heal over and leave scars. This time, unable to see him one last time, unable to talk to him and figure out what was going on inside his head, having to live with the knowledge that he changed his mind at the last second, having to live wondering if he really did care, cut deeply and bled freely. She had a sinking feeling that this cut would never scar, never heal.


	2. Apologizing For Beginners

A/N: Second in a series of mostly-unconnected Shelkero ficlets. Those that are connected will be labeled as such. On occasion I will throw in something of the general-Deepground variety. If you like any of these, please leave me a review as to what you liked about it, as these will vary in style and substance. Thank you!

Connected to _Nicks and Scars  
_

Music used to write this story: Feels Like Tonight, by Daughtry

Disclaimer: I do not own any part of the Compilation of Final Fantasy VII, nor do I own any of the music I may have used/referenced while writing. These respectively belong to Square Enix and the person or group that performed said music.

* * *

_Apologizing For Beginners_

Part of him couldn't relax. He couldn't figure out why. He just knew that he was restless, and until he figured out why, he wouldn't be able to sleep. So he decided to review everything that had happened recently and try to figure out what on the planet was so different that it would upset him to this degree.

Once he had gone over it all, he realized that it was her absence that bothered him. But not only her absence, as she had been gone before, or he had, and she wasn't there. What really bothered him was the circumstances of her departure. She wasn't dead, and at this knowledge he felt a little bit of relief he hadn't been expecting, but she had chosen to side with their enemies. And this rankled. It irritated and stung and upset. She had left him for them. It was so unbelievable that he almost didn't want to acknowledge it, naively thinking that if he didn't validate it then it wasn't true.

And this line of thinking nearly worked. It held and he managed to deceive himself into thinking that she was simply elsewhere in the facility. Until he went to the airship, he didn't think anything was wrong. He didn't remember that anything was out of place. But when he saw her run into that room, everything came rushing back, and he remembered that she had left, she had left them, she had left _him_. And that was something he wouldn't let her get away with. So he retaliated. When she attacked him, he gave as good as he got, and then some. His natural defense mechanisms had kicked in and he pulled her into Oblivion.

This was something he regretted. He had thought her betrayal hurt, but knowing that he was the direct instrument of her death hurt more. When he had given the orders to Azul for her termination, at least he had the security of blaming Weiss. Now, he had no one to blame but himself. And despite Oblivion whispering to him in so many signs and pictures that it was better this way, that now he would never have to let her go, it still panicked him and upset him to the point that he walled off the part of his mind that would register when her shield failed and she died as best he could. He didn't want to know. This way he could deceive himself into thinking her shield never failed and she still lived.

When he had turned around and realized that Valentine had pulled her out, seeing her sprawled there on the floor tired but breathing, oh yes, thank everything, still breathing, the relief had been so intense he felt light-headed. When that odd-looking girl had shown up, he took the opportunity to leave, because he knew he couldn't face her. There was no way he could look her in the eye and not crumble.

Sacrificing himself had been the only way he could think of to apologize, to try and redeem himself and make it up to her. Saving Weiss was only part of the equation. If she had seen something in their enemies worth allying herself to, then he would help her. It was the least he could do, to try and tell her he was sorry that he had nearly killed her, twice really, if he went ahead and stopped lying to himself.


	3. No One Else

A/N: Third in a series of mostly-unconnected Shelkero ficlets. Those that are connected will be labeled as such. On occasion I will throw in something of the general-Deepground variety. If you like any of these, please leave me a review as to what you liked about it, as these will vary in style and substance. Thank you!

Music for this story: She Drives Me Crazy, by Fine Young Cannibals

Disclaimer: I do not own any part of the Compilation of Final Fantasy VII, nor do I own any of the music I may have used/referenced while writing. These respectively belong to Square Enix and the person or group that performed said music.

* * *

_No One Else_

She drove him absolutely nuts. She was always, he almost didn't dare even think the word, as it would get him in so much trouble with her, _nagging_ him about something. Either she wanted him to leave her or someone else alone, or she wanted him to do something, or go to sleep, or wake up, or eat something, or stop sulking, and he balked at that, as he did not sulk, or help someone. He would give in to that last one, though, as it was inevitably the pilot she wanted him to help, and he didn't mind the pilot so much. He was a good source of information. And if her was really honest to himself, he kind of, well, he really did owe him the repairs.

But that didn't solve the problem of her driving him crazy. No matter how much he fought back, no matter how indifferent he was, no matter how much he gave in, she still wouldn't stop! Some days, he was so irritated that the expression "drove up a wall" finally made sense. Other days he just wanted to put his hands around her neck and squeeze. Other days, well, he had opened that door once and then slammed it shut and locked it, and he didn't want to open it back up any time soon, thank you very much.

The pilot, however, apparently thought otherwise, as he did it for him. Finding the pilot to be an excellent source of information, and knowing he had a close association with a woman, which had been explained to him as marriage, and that word he'd had to look up, he decided to ask the pilot how to deal with this problem that just wouldn't go away. When the pilot had said that there was once a woman who drove him insane like that, he had been relieved to find out that the pilot had experience in matters like these and apparently also how to escape them unscathed. However, when the pilot said that the solution was to get married, he had jumped in shock, and the resulting hit against the manifold he had his head in had popped all the locks off that door and propped it wide open.

On other days, he just wanted to grab her and kiss her senseless, until she couldn't talk any more. He was nearly positive that would get her to leave him alone. But finally being forced to acknowledge this made him turn more shades of red than he realized existed, trip over his words, and rush off without looking her in the eye, because he knew that if he did he wouldn't be able to help himself.


	4. Hanging Around

A/N: Fourth in a series of mostly-unconnected Shelkero ficlets. Those that are connected will be labeled as such. On occasion I will throw in something of the general-Deepground variety. If you like any of these, please leave me a review as to what you liked about it, as these will vary in style and substance. Thank you!

Disclaimer: I do not own any part of the Compilation of Final Fantasy VII, nor do I own any of the music I may have used/referenced while writing. These respectively belong to Square Enix and the person or group that performed said music.

* * *

_Hanging Around_

"You know, those manacles go quite nicely with your eyes," she said, standing in the doorway and looking at him with raised eyebrows.

"Rust is such an underrated color, isn't it?" he returned from his position handcuffed to the pipes in the ceiling.

"Hm, it is," she said, turning to go.

"Wait! Shelke!"

"What?" she asked, turning her head back to look at him.

"Let me down," he said, the tone of his voice commanding, but with a hint of pleading if one listened hard enough.

Shelke turned back to him, stepped fully inside the room, allowing the door to close behind her, and raised her chin. "And why should I?"

"Rosso." That was hissed, and bordering on desperate.

"Ah," Shelke said, biting back a smile. So Rosso was bored. She knew what that meant, specifically for Nero. He must have been trying to sleep. It was the only way she could have got hold of him. Oh well. This could be good. "Why should I?"

"Shelke!" This time it was desperate.

"Get yourself down, Nero," Shelke said, enjoying the way his face paled further.

He looked down, refusing to meet her eyes. Slowly, reluctantly, he admitted, "I can't."

"Really," she said. Rosso must have laid her hands on some of the chains the Researchers used to bind Nero. That was cruel. But, as these looked like they were rusted, it meant she had put a lot of thought into this. That didn't bode well for Nero. Perhaps she would help him.

"Yes, really, now get me down!" he bit out, the commanding tone of voice back in full force.

No, she wouldn't.

"Again, why?" she asked, arms crossed lightly over her chest. He would have to do a lot better than barked orders if he really wanted her to help him.

"Because if you don't get me down, then Rosso will do who knows what to me and I'll never be able to harass you again," he said, meeting her eyes, in all sincerity.

Her eyebrows had disappeared into her hair, she was sure of it. "And the pleasure of your annoyance continuing is cause for me to get you down, how?"

"Just undo the locks," Nero said, Oblivion starting to howl louder than normal. He was apparently getting irritated.

"That's not what I meant, Nero, and you know it," Shelke said. She refused to capitulate to that kind of a reason.

"Shelke!"

Uncrossing her arms, she shook her head and turned around, intent on leaving him be. Or making him sweat a little. Either one was fine with her.

"You can't just leave me here!" Nero said, finally pleading with her.

So he was finally realizing that he had to do better than what he had already offered. She allowed herself to smile, still facing the door. He couldn't see it, so what was the harm in indulging herself? "And why can't I? This is between you and Rosso, I'm not involved, nor do I want to get involved."

"Because, if I die, then she's next in command," Nero offered.

Shelke turned back to him solely to roll her eyes and give him a look. If he thought that she cared about that...Weiss was the higher power, no matter who was next in line. And Rosso didn't bother her as much as Nero did. She actually left her alone.

"And I love you more," Nero said, his tone suggesting he was using this option as a last resort.

Shelke sighed. She really wished he wouldn't play that card sometimes. It got him whatever he wanted, every time, no matter how much she hadn't wanted to give it to him in the first place. "You owe me," she said, walking over to him and flicking her sabers on.

"Of course," he said, slightly smug, until she let her sabers drift just a little and bite into his skin. He yelped and looked at her with a wounded expression in his eyes.

"If you owe me, you'd best act like it," she said calmly, eyes on the chains. If she didn't look directly at him, then she wouldn't feel any remorse. The last thing he needed was to know he had another card to play with her. Best to ignore him entirely. Looking at him, that is. "After all, owing me implies that at some point, I can call on you to do something for me. And I don't think you'd want that to be unpleasant."


	5. Living Through

A/N: Fifth in a series of mostly-unconnected Shelkero ficlets. Those that are connected will be labeled as such. On occasion I will throw in something of the general-Deepground variety. If you like any of these, please leave me a review as to what you liked about it, as these will vary in style and substance. Thank you!

Music for this story: Tracks 8-13 from Evanescence's Demo CD.

Story notes: Written as the first of two stories for Reading Chick, based off a prompt on a list from a friend of hers, number 4: "Be mine, and no one else's."

Disclaimer: I do not own any part of the Compilation of Final Fantasy VII, nor do I own any of the music I may have used/referenced while writing. These respectively belong to Square Enix and the person or group that performed said music.

* * *

Shelke couldn't help laughing. It was a cold sound, even she knew that. But, she thought, the walls made it sound a little deranged.

Anyone looking in from the outside would see a young girl lying on the floor, seemingly unmoving, staring up at the ceiling. They would pity her, but then she would laugh, and curl up, and then sit up. And the look in her eyes told anyone watching outside the door of the high-security room that this was no young girl.

Her eyes were dead. Dead, and chilled. Though, she knew that sometimes, they took on a manic glint. She knew that _he_ shone out from the eyes that she called hers. The eyes that got her locked in here, in this white room. They only thought that keeping it bright all the time would keep her focused in the present.

She knew it had started long before she told them it did. She knew that it probably had its roots in the very assignment designed to keep his brother alive. The time she'd let him help her sift through all of that data. The time she'd had to mentally walk him through the procedure.

How was she supposed to know that his own, unique, abilities would take on a life of their own? How was she supposed to know that they _had_ a life of their own? How was she supposed to know that Oblivion had decided that, since its only free portal to this world was so attached to her, cared so much and yes, she knew it now, because it whispered the truth in her ear the moment it happened, loved her to such a degree, it would leave a bit of itself lodged in her mind so he could come and stay with her if ever something happened to him?

That is what made her laugh: the realization that something so inanimate could be intelligent enough to formulate a plan like that and carry it out, and with such success! But the real irony was that this was not Nero, no, this was a shadow of him, one so lost to Oblivion that he didn't realize the damage he was doing to her. To think that he knew, but he didn't care about it, that he only wanted to be with her, whatever the cost, made her shudder. Though her analytical mind couldn't dismiss the possibility. It forced her to acknowledge the possibility that Nero, with his lack of knowledge of social propriety and his skewed views on what was proper interaction, might actually believe that his occupation of her mind, much like Lucrecia's before, was perfectly fine. The fact that this was a likely possibility made her laugh, too.

At night, though, when they left all the lights on and tried to convince her body that there was no dark, she laughed more, as Oblivion's whispers increased and she realized that this possibility was what was really going on. She knew, even if she refused to admit it to them, that he had always been there, from the moment of his death, that Oblivion had pulled at her mind and pushed Lucrecia out and drew Nero in. She had lived with it, getting used to the faint whispers and echoes and actually coming to the point where it was normal and comfortable and, almost, completely welcome and enjoyable. Until she had tried to move beyond the past. The day she accepted an invitation to a dance, from a young man she worked with whose name she didn't even remember, the whispers had increased and, if she was to believe the tales they told her, her eyes turned an odd shade of purple.

Her dreams that night had been full of screaming and, what was frightening, crying at times, and she woke often in a cold sweat, wondering what was wrong while the part of her mind that was still the Transparent told her what had happened and she refused to listen. She didn't want to listen. She thought her reasoning was sound, that his presence only in her mind wasn't enough and that he would always be with her and so she should be allowed to have some form of social interaction outside her own head, even with other men if she wanted. It wasn't as if she would ever let things go anywhere. But no matter how many times she told this to the whisper in her head that increased in volume over time and over her protests and her reasons, the whisper in her head that was Nero and was not Nero all at the same time refused to listen to her.

Until the whisper finally tuned her out and turned her eyes the red color she could see in surfaces when she couldn't talk for herself but the whisper made itself sound like her and she ended up in this room when she could finally speak her own words.

Some days she thought the Kisaragi girl knew something, from the way she narrowed her eyes at her through the glass they didn't think she could see through. But then she would leave and the rest of them would come and shake their heads and she would start to laugh, thinking about how they only saw what Oblivion and the not-really-Nero wanted them to see. How they saw a girl who was not a girl, that belonged to no one else but him, and didn't really mind it all that much, if only they would let her out of this room...


	6. Sparring Partners

A/N: Sixth in a series of mostly-unconnected Shelkero ficlets. Those that are connected will be labeled as such. On occasion I will throw in something of the general-Deepground variety. If you like any of these, please leave me a review as to what you liked about it, as these will vary in style and substance. Thank you!

Music for this story: Anything ridiculous. Just pick something bouncy, funny, and completely off the wall. I was listening to O-ZONE, Dragostea Din Tei. Seriously.

Story notes: Written as the second of two stories for Reading Chick, based off a prompt on a list from a friend of hers, number 37: " 'Can you die any faster?' "

Disclaimer: I do not own any part of the Compilation of Final Fantasy VII, nor do I own any of the music I may have used/referenced while writing. These respectively belong to Square Enix and the person or group that performed said music.

* * *

"Can you die any faster?"

"Excuse me?" Shelke looked up from her position on the floor, where Nero's latest attack had thrown her.

"I asked you if you could die any faster," Nero said, shifting his wings to approximate resting them on his hips in an exasperated fashion. Shelke almost laughed. It really looked too funny.

"What is that supposed to mean?" she asked, pushing herself up off the floor and readying her sabers, fully intent on wiping the bored look off of Nero's face.

Here he chose to fully display his exasperation with her, as he pulled a gun and shot at her, while rolling his eyes. "It means that I want you to die at a faster rate than you currently are."

Shelke chose to refrain from responding 'No kidding,' and instead charged at him with both sabers ready. She had a feeling that if she just managed to nick that hydraulic line, he would be the one dying...

"_What_ are you trying to do?" Nero asked, dodging her attack.

"I would prefer it if you were the one to 'die at a faster rate than you currently are,'" Shelke stated calmly, dancing backwards a few steps and readying herself for another salvo. A feint this time, maybe, to the right, and then if she could duck underneath his left wing and come up behind him, reaching her sabers up at the same time...he was still inexperienced enough with the wings that it might just work.

"Oh, very funny," Nero returned dryly. "Also very original, too. Wherever did you come up with that one?"

Shelke felt confident enough to make a face at him, a rather mocking one, too, carefully calculated to irritate him just enough so that he would raise both guns on her...yes.

Proceeding with her original plan to feint right, Shelke managed to twist herself around and behind Nero just enough to reach her saber up, feeling it lost cohesion temporarily as it caught some of the metal of the wing, and nick the hydraulics she had been aiming for. As Nero's left wing sparked and twitched, fast becoming useless, Shelke rolled and bounced up again, this time some twenty feet from Nero.

The look he shot her this time was one of pure malice. Apparently, she had truly pissed him off this time. She tried fighting the grin, and decided to lose that battle, giving him a smile that could best be described as cheeky and proud of herself. This only garnered her an increase malice being sent via dirty looks in her direction.

Her next action was also carefully calculated, but in this case, only to make him even more angry. "So, who is dying faster now?"

This time, Nero's reaction was nothing more than a narrowing of the eyes, but to such an extent that all that could be seen was the tiniest slit of glowing red. Shelke had to choke back a laugh once more, as an odd cross between a giggle, a snicker, and a snort sounded from the general direction of the door.

Either Nero hadn't heard it, or he simply chose not to respond, as he ignored it and allowed Oblivion to unlatch the bindings on his arms. Shelke frowned only the slightest amount, a tiny furrowing of her brow, but if he had been paying attention, she was sure Nero would have recognized what she was upset about.

"So, Shelke, you believe you are being funny. Cute even, perhaps? Tell me my dear Shelke, shall we try a different dance? This time one where _you_ die faster now?"

Shelke decided to take advantage of the obviously-present third party. "You would kill me with witnesses present?"

"Of course," Nero purred. "How else will I be able to document that you died legitimately?"

Shelke rolled her eyes at him. So, the unleashing of Oblivion was play. Well, two could _play_ at that game. She'd get him back for scaring her like that, and she would get him very well indeed.

"Nero, I distinctly remember you telling me last night that you loved me far too much to ever kill me," she said calmly, but with an added flutter of her eyelashes she had seen Rosso use, referencing one of many incidents she and Nero swore to each other would never be mentioned in public, and making him start. She bit back another grin as she caught the faintest hint of a blush cross his pale cheeks.

However, interrupting what could have proven to be a very sweet moment, if that blush was anything to judge by, and Shelke knew it was, the unseen voice by the door suddenly made a choking sound, and very shortly afterwards a plume of water spewed onto the floor.

This sound got Nero's attention, as he turned with both eyebrows raised to the direction of the door, while Shelke did the same.

Shelke reached behind her and hit the secondary switch for the lights, revealing Argent with one hand on her chest and the other loosely holding a bottle of water, leaning heavily on the door-frame.

Nero's slightly drawn-out "Yes?" caused a wide-eyed look from Argent and the appearance of a harsh cough. When he crossed his arms across his chest, tilted his head slightly in Shelke's direction, and said, "We're waiting," Shelke finally allowed herself to chuckle.


End file.
